


If Love Was Easy Everybody'd Do It

by ivysea



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Winter At Kaer Morhen, but nobody knows yet, post season 1 episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivysea/pseuds/ivysea
Summary: Geralt and Ciri run into Jaskier at an inn on their way to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Somehow, Ciri convinces an angry Jaskier to come with them and act as her tutor for the winter. Unfortunately, Geralt's emotionally stunted behavior in the past burned whatever bridge there was between himself and the bard and he wants to fix it, despite Jaskier's dedication to being upset.When Ciri discovers a ballad Jaskier wrote about ~that time~ on the mountain, she makes her feelings about Geralt's behavior clear to everyone at the keep and then resolves to get Jaskier to forgive her emotionally-stunted father figure.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 587





	1. In spite of my instincts to run away

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking this story will be broken into 4 parts, which are all already written. I'm debating adding a fifth part as a little treat, but we'll see! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Destiny was something that Geralt had never truly been able to avoid. He’d raged against it for years, but eventually the lion cub of Cintra found him. Despite what he’d originally believed, he’d grown attached to the girl far sooner than he would’ve expected. She was so small and innocent, and he couldn’t help but want to protect her. Once she’d joined him there was a period where he didn’t think of the past, of what he’d lost by trying to avoid her. He didn’t think of another person, small and innocent, who he’d used to save time and again. 

Jaskier. 

He’d flash in and out of Geralt’s memory every so often, but he was always able to push it away and focus on his child surprise. She needed him more than a traveling bard might. 

“Geralt, my legs are tiring.” Ciri whined quietly from behind him. As of late she’d unlocked a new confidence for complaints, never ceasing to remind the Witcher of someone from the past. 

He grunted and continued walking. There was an inn close by, hopefully untouched by Nilfgaard’s soldiers. He wouldn’t mention that concern to Ciri, she was far too anxious about such things. 

“Are we camping for the night? Or might I actually have a bed to sleep in?” She asked, unphased by his lack of response. 

“A bed, Cirilla, but only if you walk faster.” Geralt grumbled, hiding his fond smile as the girl practically began to skip along the trail, humming one of the many songs she’d learned in court. 

As they approached the inn, Geralt took note of the light spilling from the windows, and the cheers of a satisfied audience. He could smell some type of stew on the breeze, and possibly fresh bread. The scene seemed safe enough, so he handed Roach off to a stable hand with a few coins and pulled Ciri’s hood over her head. 

“Stay close, Fiona.” He warned, signaling for her to take his hand, revert to her fake name, and follow him inside. When the heavy oak door swung open, Ciri’s breath caught with glee at the same moment Geralt’s stomach dropped. There was a bard on the small stage at the front of the room, he was dressed in a red outfit that Geralt knew all too well. The last time he’d seen that shade of red, it was walking away from him on a mountain top. 

“Geralt,” Ciri whispered, tugging him down to her level so she could continue sharing her secret. “That’s my bard! He would come to court to play on my birthdays!” 

“Ah, your bard.” Geralt echoed, letting his eyes wander back to the stage. Jaskier hadn’t seen them or hadn’t acknowledged them at least. He was just beginning the chorus of a sadder tune, pitching his voice slightly lower as he sang. 

Geralt spotted an empty table and pushed a few coins into Ciri’s little hand, telling her to order them both meals and something to drink. She loved the simple pleasure of speaking with others, part of her social training before Cintra fell, he supposed. As she skipped to the barmaid, Geralt allowed the familiar voice from the stage to wash over him. 

“Etched your angles on my hippocampus   
Where I keep these treasures you can't steal   
There are times remembering you is a poison   
At least the scars remind me you were real” 

Jaskier’s voice was raw and slow, lulling the audience into a melancholic mass. Geralt couldn’t help but wonder who he’d written this one about. He’d always wondered if Jaskier would write about their last journey, if he was as alone as Geralt was. He was sure this one was about another scorned lover, though. 

“If love was easy, everybody'd do it   
If love was easy, you would still be here   
Just 'cause it was good once doesn't mean there's nothing to it   
If love was easy, everybody'd do it” 

Geralt allowed himself to look at Jaskier, to fully take him in. He was almost entirely the same. Maybe an extra wrinkle or two around his eyes, but overall untouched by the years they spent apart. He was different though, in a way. He smelled less of sweet honey and more of salt and leather, like sadness. Geralt wondered if he’d had another tryst with the countess recently. 

“This must be new! I’ve never heard it, although it is rather sad.” Ciri mused from beside him as she shoved a pint of ale onto the table for him. 

“The barmaid is making me some cider.” She continued as she noticed Geralt looking for another cup on the table. “I should’ve ordered another for Julian! He always asked for cider after he performed.” She looked crestfallen, as if she’d just let down all of Cintra by forgetting a single cup of cider. 

“Julian?” Geralt couldn’t help but ask. 

“Oh yes, the bard, silly! He was a Viscount, but he left his court to follow his path. He always told me the most wonderful stories, Geralt.” Ciri said, scooting closer to Geralt, signaling the beginning of a story. There were times that she was so similar to the bard that Geralt wondered if he wasn’t somehow her father. 

“He had a companion of course, a Witcher like you! But that was a secret that I wasn’t ever to tell. I wonder if you know his Witcher. I always thought he was in love.” Ciri finished, whispering as if she was a lady gossiping in court. 

Before Geralt could deny his knowledge of Jaskier or ask any other questions, they were interrupted by a throat clearing. 

“Hello, Geralt.” Gold eyes met blue in an instant but not the way they used to. Before, Jaskier’s eyes danced with mirth, as if he always had some type of joke waiting to be told. Now, they were duller, lonelier. He wondered who had done this to the bard. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunted, searching his mind for something else to say. He should apologize, grovel for forgiveness, but he didn’t know how, or if Jaskier even wanted that from him. His demeanor was cold, restrained, as if he was truly uncomfortable with Geralt’s proximity. That was new. 

Geralt didn’t have a chance to utter a word before Ciri grasped the situation and flung herself at the bard. “Master Julian!” she squeaked, allowing him to scoop her into an embrace. She pressed both hands on his cheeks and whispered; “You must call me Fiona here, I’m in hiding now. Geralt is keeping me safe.” 

“Oh my dear Fiona, I haven’t seen you in absolute ages!” Jaskier cried, as if he’d never called her anything else ever. They could trust him, Geralt knew this, but he couldn’t quell his desire to protect Ciri from everything and everyone. And to protect Jaskier from the evil that was following them. 

“Where have you been?” She asked, crossing her little arms and staring at Jaskier expectantly. “And where on the continent is your Witcher!” 

“Fiona, love, I think you’ve missed something.” Jaskier smiled lightly, turning her to face Geralt. “It seems that we have the same Witcher.” 

Her eyes widened comically before narrowing into slits and turning the fury of Cintra upon Geralt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Well-” He started, searching for the right words. Unsure of what he should and should not tell the girl. Luckily for him, Jaskier swooped in, saving him from conflict. Like he used to. 

“Love, I haven’t seen Geralt in years. That was the past. Now he’s your Witcher, of course. Who am I to come between such a bond?” Jaskier smiled, stroking her hand comfortingly. 

Somehow, his words seemed to calm her faster than Geralt had ever been able to. Where she had been apprehensive of him at first, she melted into Jaskier’s side easily. If Nilfgaard were to come across the bard, Ciri would never forgive herself. Geralt could practically see it already. He would be just a fraction too slow or too weak and Jaskier would be gone and Ciri would lose yet another person that she loved. And if that wasn’t enough, Geralt wasn’t sure what he would do if he lost the bard. 

He knew he’d already lost Jaskier, that he’d pushed him away too hard. Yet he always knew that Jaskier was alive and well somewhere. If he were to die, especially at the fault of Geralt, he’d lose it. He knew he’d have to protect Jaskier as well as the princess. He couldn’t afford to lose either one, and Ciri couldn’t afford to lose another loved one. 

“Fiona, it’s nearly time for you to get to bed.” He said, interrupting whatever intense conversation Ciri and Jaskier had fallen into while he thought about losing them. 

“Will you be here in the morning?” She asked, turning her hopeful eyes to Jaskier. Surprisingly, he didn’t answer, he just turned his questioning gaze to Geralt. Geralt watched some of the tension that had gathered in the bard’s shoulders bleed out as he nodded sharply in answer to Jaskier’s unspoken question. 

“Alright, then I suppose you’re right Geralt.” She said haughtily, smiling as Jaskier laughed. 

“Well, my dearest, I’d best get back to the stage. Sleep well.” Jaskier bowed, pressing a kiss to Ciri’s hand and grinning as she giggled and swatted at him. Geralt tried to press his emotions down. Ciri deserved to have people who made her laugh. She couldn’t just have him around. 

He took her hand and guided her to the innkeeper, asking for a room. As they were led to the stairs, he caught her looking back to Jaskier as he climbed up onto the stage once again. 

When she flopped onto her bed and Geralt moved to blow out the candle, she turned her big eyes to him. “Geralt?” She asked hopefully. 

“Yes, Ciri?” He asked. He felt her nerves before she even spoke again. Whatever she was about to ask; she was afraid of what his answer might be. 

“Could we bring Julian with us to the keep this winter?” 

Geralt hummed, thinking the idea over. He knew Jaskier would decline the offer. He’d always relished his time at the university over the winter. Geralt also couldn’t shake the feeling that Jaskier was angry at him. 

“He can tutor me! You know I need more than just fighting skills and magical abilities. I must become cultured in the ways of the continent.” She pleaded. 

She was right. Geralt knew she was. And if Jaskier came to Kaer Morhen, Geralt could make sure he was safe too. 

“I’ll ask him.” Geralt grunted, turning to head for the door before CIri could make any further requests. “Goodnight Ciri.” 

“Goodnight Geralt.” She called, satisfaction tinging her little voice. 

When Geralt slid back into his seat at the furthest table from the stage, he caught Jaskier’s eye briefly. Where there was cheer and reassurance with Ciri earlier, Jaskier’s gaze was cold now. He looked away before Geralt could begin to wonder what had changed. 

He sat at his table for the entire set, and then the extra songs Jaskier played to gather up he last bit of coin. Then, after Jaskier grabbed a mug from the barmaid, Geralt resolved that he had to speak to him about the winter. For Ciri. 

Jaskier slid onto the bench opposite of him, not making eye contact. 

“What are you doing down here? You don’t like my singing.” He groused, staring into his mug. Ah, so he was upset with Geralt. 

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Geralt murmured. Hoping that would be enough of an apology to quell the sadness that rolled off the bard in waves. 

“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” 

Great didn’t know what to say. He was suddenly terrified of saying too much, or not enough, or the wrong thing altogether. He felt as if he was standing on a rickety bridge, one wrong move and he’d go tumbling. Alone. Without Jaskier. 

“Come to the keep with us.” He said instead. 

“Why?” Jaskier inhaled sharply, exuding anger. Geralt had never seen him this angry. Sure, he got upset, but he was never truly angry. 

“Ciri wants you to come with us.” Jaskier laughed angrily, like poison, when Geralt said this. 

“Wrong answer. You’d never just allow a stranger to travel with you because a child requested it.” He snapped, pushing his mug away from him so he could flatten his hands on the tabletop. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt started slowly, trying to pick through his mind to decide what was the best thing to say. The bard was hurt, and angry, and Geralt was certain that it was his fault. “First, you are not a stranger. Second, I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because you know me and-” 

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice was like ice. “You cannot actually expect me to drop everything and travel with you again after the things you’ve said. After you allowed me to walk away for good.” 

“You’re right.” Geralt began again, pushing his hair away from his face in frustration. “I have no rights to you. But there is a little princess asleep upstairs who needs a tutor, and a friend. There are so many things that I can’t teach her.” 

There was a desperate note in his voice but Geralt didn’t have the time to feel ashamed of it. He was losing the bard, he could feel it in the way Jaskier couldn’t look him in the eye, the way he’d carefully avoided any type of contact with the Witcher sitting across from him. 

“I’ll go. For Ciri.” Jaskier conceded, taking a sip from his mug and waiting for Geralt to speak again. 

“About the mountain, I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m so-” Jaskier stopped Geralt’s confession with a raised hand. 

“This is not about us, Geralt. It’s about Cirilla.” 

Geralt felt panic rise in his throat. He’d never had to apologize before, and now Jaskier didn’t even want it. He didn’t even want Geralt. He was essentially being forced to spend his winter somewhere he didn’t want to be. All because Geralt was selfish. 

“Please let me say this, Jask.” The nickname slipped out before he could catch it. 

“No.” Jaskier admonished, standing from their table and tossing a coin down next to his cider. “We are not friends, we never were. You made that clear to me. Do not go back on your word.” 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt said, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand that was curled into a fist at his side. Before he made contact Jaskier was almost across the room, walking to the stairs. 

“I’ll be ready to leave in the morning.” He called back to Geralt, ignoring the way the Witcher had slightly curled in on himself. 

When Jaskier got to his room and shut the door tightly he finally allowed himself to crumble under the weight of the evening. He’d always hoped to see the WItcher again, maybe just for a brief moment. After the mountain, he’d wondered if Geralt was looking for him. Sometimes, he’d leave little hints along the path that they both travelled, hoping for Geralt to find him again. But alas, years passed and Jaskier was still alone. Cintra fell and he mourned the small girl he’d met but a few times. He mourned Geralt, and on particularly bad days, he’d shed a tear for the violet-eyed mage who was rumored to have fallen on Sodden Hill. 

Now, everything he’d mourned was right there at his fingertips again. And the wanted him around. He was elated, but terribly mournful of the years he spent wandering alone. He had just gotten over the Witcher. And now here he was apologizing and asking him to travle with them. 

He was angry, too. How could Geralt just abandon him for years? HAd he truly not ever wondered if Jaskier was okay? 

“It doesn’t matter. You’re over him.” Jaskier muttered to himself, brushing angry tears from his cheeks. 

A lie. 

He didn’t know if he’d ever be over the twenty years he’d spent following behind Geralt. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the feel of tangled, white locks or the burn of a golden gaze. But he could try. For Cirilla, he’d try to get past all of it. 

He knew that things between himself and the Witcher could never be the same- he'd have to preserve himself somehow. He also knew that he’d follow the little lion cub of Cintra wherever she asked, even if Geralt would also be there. So he would go, and he would stay with them, and he would avoid reconnecting with one Geralt of Rivia all winter even if it broke his heart all over again. 

The next morning Geralt and Ciri met Jaskier at the stables at sunrise. He was on time, something Geralt wasn’t expecting. He’d convinced himself that Jaskier wouldn’t show, that he’d flee in the night and never speak to them again. 

“I’ll get the horses.” Jaskier said quickly, walking into the stable before Geralt could say anything. Ciri didn’t seem to catch on, which Geralt was eternally grateful for. 

“You have a horse?” Ciri chirped, following after Jaskier. 

“As of recently, yes.” Jaskier said, hefting Ciri up and onto the ornate saddle that was strapped to what must be Jaskier’s horse. She laughed delightedly and immediately began examining the flowers that were tucked into the white mane. 

“Did you do these braids?” She asked. 

“I did, little princess.” Jaskier said, chest puffing slightly with pride. 

Ciri marveled at the work, tugging lightly at the decorative style with her nimble fingers. “Could you teach me sometime?” She asked hopefully. 

“Of course! I’m your tutor, after all.” Jaskier said cheerily, catching Geralt with a cold look when Ciri looked away. Geralt turned and went to prepare Roach, remembering times when Jaskier had braided flowers into her mane instead. He remembers crushing the flowers in his hands, despite Jaskier’s protests and laughter. 

Things used to be so easy between them.


	2. On the floor because the bed was angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! The lovely Yennefer comes into the story in this one... but I promise she'll get better in the next few chapters. We still have to get past all of the tension between everyone's favorite bard and his least favorite mage. I'm planning on forming a little friendship between them later on though.

The next few weeks passed as if they were days. Jaskier rode behind Geralt on his horse, often with Ciri plastered to his chest, begging for stories and songs. He delighted in the company of the girl, who always leant an eager ear to his newest ballads. She was the opposite of what the bard was used to in a traveling companion, and yet she brought the same quiet calm to him that Geralt used to. Her presence was a constant in his life at this point, meaning her questions were a constant as well. 

“How did you do that braid there, Jas?” She’d ask, pointing to Pegasus’s mane. “Can you demonstrate it again?” 

“If you had to put a number on it, how many maidens have you kissed?” She’d ask, feighning innocence and dogding Geralt’s elbow. 

“Have you ever truly been in love?” A quiet whisper in the night, Jaskier chose not to answer that one. 

“Do your feet ache like mine when Geralt makes us walk this far?” She’d whine, practically begging to be slung up onto one of the horses for the remainder of the day’s travels. 

Jaskier wouldn’t trade her questions for anything. They filled the silence that grew like a chasm between himself and Geralt. Neither of them had truly reached out to fill the void, and all that was left to be exchanged between them was daily pleasantires and a few laughs when Ciri was being truly comical. Jaskier was fine with it though, it made it far easier to allow the flame of his anger to burn. 

“Jas,” She chirped from her perch on Roach’s back, they were giving Pegasus a brief rest so she’d traded to the other available horse. Princesses, apparently, could not walk for too long. 

“Yes, princess?” He asked, guiding Pegasus to follow behind Roach. He noted the way Geralt’s shoulders tensed at the mention of Ciri’s title, but Jaskier woud not be the one that allowed everyone to forget who she was. SHe would save them all someday, in his bardic opinion. 

She wiggled in the saddle, turning to face Jaskier with wide, puppy-dog eyes. “I’d like to learn to braid my own hair... and I was wondering if you could teach me?” 

Jaskier felt a smile split his face, she truly was a precious thing. “I would be delighted!” 

Ciri’s eyes shone with something dangerous before she spoke again. “Perfect! My faithful tutor will teach me to braid and our model will be Geralt!” She giggled, intentionally ignoring the horrified looks that appeared on the faces of the men. 

“Well, dearest, Geralt doesn’t want-” Jaskier began. 

At the same time Geralt grunted something quietly. 

“Take it away, Witcher,” Jaskier laughed, knowing Geralt would decline Ciri’s request. He’d hated Jaskier’s hands in his hair long before their current situation. Jaskier was already mentally preparing his false apology to Ciri when Geralt spoke, not turning around to look at his travel companions. 

“I said yes.” 

Jaskier spluttered. 

Ciri squealed in delight and leaned down to wrap her little arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Thank you! Thank you! I can’t wait.” 

Geralt was glad that Ciri had Jaskier now, it gave him the space he needed to watch for danger and get to the keep before snowfall. It also gave him time to think about every miniscule time he’d gone wrong in his past relations with the bard. He noted the way Jaskier stiffened at certain events, often tied directly back to Geralt’s treatment of him. 

He wanted to restore whatver he had with Jaskier, to show him that Geralt was someone he could trust. He wanted to show him that no one would abandon him again. Figuring out how to do this was the hardest part. It was the part that kept him up at night as the others slept, it was the part that made his heart sink every time Jaskier avoided his gaze. 

Offering to let them braid his hair was his newest idea on how to gain Jaskier’s trust. He’d used to beg and plead with Geralt to let him tame his wild hair. 

Geralt sank down onto the dirt after they made camp, allowing Jaskier and Ciri to sit on a log behind him and examine their workplace. 

“Now, dearest, you’ll need to remove any previous stylings before you can begin a new braid.” Jaskier said, indicating the leather strap that was holding half of Geralt’s hair up. 

Geralt felt Ciri’s small fingers tug at the strap, loosening it considerably before she groaned in frustration. 

“It’s not coming out!” 

Jaskier laughed quiety. “Here, let me help.” He murmured, combing nimble fingers through Geralt’s hair. The Witcher could’ve sighed at how good it felt. He’d missed having Jaskier so close. He was always warm and bright and calming. How had he let him slip away? 

He allowed Jaskier’s patient voice and warm breath to wash over him. Every so often, Ciri’s little voice would break through as well. They must be a sight for sore eyes, he thought. A subdued Witcher, a bard, and a Cintran princess. 

Eventually, Ciri settled into the rhythm of braiding. In fact, she’d settled into it so well that she lulled herself to sleep mid-braid. Jaskier chuckled as he untangled her hands from Geralt’s hair, carefully pulling her into his arms. 

“Stay there,” He whispered, voice cutting right to Geralt’s core. “I’ll come tighten it and finish up. Should last you a few days.” 

Geralt just nodded, staring into the fire and willing his heart to stop racing. 

“Okay, Sir Witcher, let’s see what I can do here,” Jaskier said softly, combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair. 

For a prolonged moment, there was silence. Jaskier’s unhappiness must have been quelled momentarily, because Geralt coudn’t smell sadness. He smelled like he did before. Before it was ruined. 

“Will you listen if I speak?” Geralt asked, unsure of what possessed him to attempt another apology. 

Jaskier hummed, continuing with his braid. 

“I just-” Geralt stopped, organizing his thoughts. “I am truly sorry. I know you’re upset. I understand your anger. And I don’t want you to be hurt anymore.” 

“That’s great, Geralt” Jaskier said sharply, moving his fingers a little faster. 

Geralt knew he was going to finish soon, and then the moment would be lost. He’d lose another chance to regain the bard’s friendship. 

“I’m not asking you for anything Jaskier, this is all on your time. I just have to tell you that I’m sorry.” 

Silence. 

“I’ll be sorry for every day that I spent taking you for granted. I’ll be sorry for every harsh hand and cruel word.” Geralt continued. Jaskier was never this quiet. He used to fill the world with every word that crossed his mind. Now, when it came to Geralt, it was like pulling teeth to get the slightest verbal acknowledgment from him. 

Hands settled on Geralt’s shoulders. 

He froze. 

His words died in his throat. 

Jaskier leaned into him, lips brushing the shell of his ear. 

He leaned back, just slightly, allowing Jaskier’s chest to graze his back. 

It was as if the world stopped turning and they were the only two beings in existence. Just Jaskier. Just Geralt. Together. 

Then Jaskier patted his shoulders and broke the silence with a cheerful, “You’re all set! Goodnight, Witcher.” 

Days later, Geralt’s ego was still bruised. Jaskier hadn’t acknowledged him since. He’d even gone so far as to purchase Ciri an odd doll with long hair to braid. There would be no more nights like that one under the stars, Geralt was sure of it. 

At dinner one night, their last stop at an inn before they reached the keep, Geralt caught a whiff of gooseberries and he glimpsed black skirts slipping around a corner. Yennefer. He’d hoped she meet them again this winter. He always felt better knowing she was safe and able to train Ciri. But his fists still clenched at the realization that Jaskier would be upset by her presense. He always was. 

Eventually, she drifted over their table, taking the seat next to Geralt and across from Jaskier, who had paled considerable since her arrival. 

“Ah, if it isn’t the little bard.” She drawled, placing a hand on Ciri’s and squeezing lightly. “What brings you here?” She asked. 

“Trust me, witch, I wouldn't be here if it wasn’t for my sweet student.” Jaskier groused, making to leave the table. “I’ll go eat elsewhere so you can catch up with your family.” The way he said family made Geralt feel a fresh wave of guilt. Of course, this is what he thought it was, it seemed like Geralt was dragging him to the keep acting as an outsider to whatever they had going on prior to him joining them. Another instance where the bard would be wounded by the Witcher. 

Before he could gather his food, Ciri’s hand shot out, stilling him. “Julian,” She began softly. “Yen is my other teacher, you two must get along. It would make my training much easier. Wouldn't you agree?” She said innocently, looking to Geralt for confirmation. 

“She’s right.” He grunted, ignoring Yennefer’s sharp look and Jaskier’s clenched fists. 

They finished their meal in relative silence, glares from both Yennefer and Jaskier being shot across the table at any chance they got. Afterwards, Ciri took Jaskier’s hand in hers and requested his company on her walk to her room. For a young child, she was always very aware of Jaskier’s emotions, quelling his storms in a way Geralt could only wish to do. He shook that thought out of his head the moment it entered. 

“So,” Yennefer started as soon as they were out of earshot. “Is this your new way of confessing your feelings to someone? Dragging him to your home and trapping him for the winter?” 

“Not what I’m doing.” Geralt didn’t even look up at her. He knew her violet eyes must be shining with unmade jabs. 

“Then what, by all the gods, are you doing?” She asked, placing a hand on his clenched jaw and forcing his eyes up to hers. She looked concerned. “He’s so sad, Geralt. I felt his distress as soon as I entered to building. Honestly, I thought I might have to rescue him from bandits or something of the sort. Wouldn’t want your little bard getting hurt.” 

“Why do you care, Yen? You’ve hated him for years.” Geralt snapped, trying to escape the feeling of guilt that was washing over him. Jaskier had smelled like sadness since they’d found him, but Geralt thought Ciri was helping ease his emotions slightly. 

“I hated him at first, but you know I have an affinity for broken things.” She laughed quietly, looking past Geralt to the stairwell that Jaskier and Ciri had disappeared up just moments earlier. “That man, for all the brightly colored outfits and jovial stories, is a shell of what he was before.” 

“He’s getting better.” Geralt defended, as if Jaskier needed his defense. “You should see him with Ciri, I’ve never seen her take to someone so quickly.” 

“If he makes her happy, you know I’ll let him stay, but you should consider the ramifications.” She said gently, patting his cheek once before pulling her hand away. She was never one for public displays of softness. 

“Which are?” Geralt grunted, pushing past the fear that was growing like a knot in his stomach. He didn’t want the bard hurt, no matter what. 

Yennefer laughed at first, as if Geralt had just told a hilarious joke. Then, she grew serious again. “Just remember, 20 years is a large portion of a human’s life. This human spent 20 years of his life allowing you to hurt him over and over, just in case you ever wanted to give him the time of day. Then, he spent the next 5 years healing from that time.” 

Realization dawned on Geralt, but she wasn’t done yet. 

“If you break him again, I don’t know if he’ll have enough time to heal again. Humanity is a fragile thing, Geralt.” With that, she stood and walked to the stairs, dismissing him for the night. Geralt didn’t move. He just mulled over her words. 

What if he hurt Jaskier again? He’d tried so hard not to. He didn’t make any scathing remarks, and he was quick to call Jaskier his friend when they arrived at inns, but to no avail. He’d forgotten how quickly human life came to an end. They didn’t have forever; they barely had another 20 years. And even then, there wouldn’t be any wild travels or dangerous adventures for the bard. He’d grow old and weak, and Geralt would have to watch. 

He spent so long ignoring Jaskier, and now the thought of his short years coming to a close twisted like a blade in Geralt’s gut. 

He was broken from his revery by a new mug of ale being placed in front of him, Jaskier perching quietly across from him. He looked like he had something to say, but he didn’t know how to put it. 

“So, she’s here.” He started. 

“She is.” Geralt answered. He didn’t know what more Jaskier wanted him to say. 

“I just wanted to tell you-” Jaskier started and then stopped, frowning slightly before plastering on his award-winning smile. “I just wanted to tell you that I won’t get in your way this time. I’m here for Cirilla. You and Yennefer are more than welcome to rekindle whatever it is between you. There won’t be any ballads about it from me.” 

“We aren’t going to rekindle anything.” Geralt replied, trying to meet Jaskier’s eyes. “It’s not- you don’t have to step away. There’s nothing there.” 

“For now.” Jaskier quipped, scooping his lute up from where he’d rested it. “Now, I promised the innkeeper a bit of music before I retired for the night.” 

“You have to believe me,” Geralt started, unsure of how to convey his sincerity to Jaskier. 

The silence between them was accompanied with the jeers and laughter that washed throughout the tavern. The guests were a lively bunch, and they’d been loud all night. It was perfect, no one would notice the strange bunch if they were focused on having a lively night. 

“I’ll take up residence in Ciri’s room tonight. You two should talk, or whatever it is you do.” Jaskier said before walking quickly to the stage. 

The crowd quieted down as he cleared his throat, blue eyes flickering around the room, taking stock of his audience. He was a natural performer, everyone always noticed as soon as he took the stage. Geralt remembered the days when he’d dance animatedly around the taverns with the barmaids and the village girls. He remembered yanking him out of a dark corner or two as well. 

Lately, his performances were less lively. He was still captivating for the crowds, but he was far more somber. He usually waited until Geralt and Ciri retired to bed before he’d perform, insisting that he wouldn’t want to bother Geralt. The Witcher was beginning to think it was some form of punishment, never being able to see the bard's performances again. 

“Alright, you lovely people, I’m going to open with a newer piece, and then we’ll jump into some lively things!” Jaskier announced, strumming his lute. 

“On the floor because the bed was angry   
Rhapsody in technicolor shades   
You got a way of making me a liar   
In spite of my instincts to run away   
  
I wake up feeling seasick but I'm staying   
Outside of you dying for a change   
Burned my house to embers for this moment   
As your shadow swallows all my pain” 

Jaskier’s voice was melodic and slow, weaving its way around the room. The villagers had ceased their conversations and dialed into him entirely. Geralt couldn’t help but smile, he’d missed seeing this. Even if he would never admit it. The lyrics, however, stirred something painful within him. Realistically, he knew the song must be about one of Jaskier’s lovers, but he couldn’t help but slip into his memories of pushing Jaskier off tiny beds and onto the floor, laughing at his spluttering. He couldn’t chase away the memories of Jaskier stitching his wounds, inviting him to the coast, following him everywhere. 

He stood and walked out of the room, quietly making his way to their bedrooms. The longer he stayed, the more delusional he became apparently. They’d gotten two rooms, one for him and Yennefer and one for Jaskier and Ciri, but when he opened his door, he found the room empty, no Yennefer to be seen. He pushed down his rising panic and peeked into Ciri’s room. 

Relief flooded his senses when he saw the mage sitting at the small desk, reading something. 

“Ah, you found me, I see.” She said, not looking up. 

“Will you be coming to bed soon?” He asked, hoping that she would say no, giving him time to meditate his thoughts of Jaskier away. 

“I’ll be sleeping in here tonight, Geralt. You and the bard can fight over bed space in the other room.” She replied, bored. Geralt’s heart stuttered. They couldn’t. Jaskier had been ever so careful to avoid being too close to him since they found him. 

“He won’t.” Geralt mumbled, staring at his boots on the dusty wood floor. 

“He won’t what?” She asked, voice lilting as if she already knew the answer but wanted to drag it out of the Witcher as well. 

“He won’t stay in the same room as me. Hasn’t since we found him.” That was all Geralt could say. He couldn’t bring himself to admit the harsh realities of it to Yennefer. He couldn’t tell her that if they only got one room, Jaskier would stay up all night in the tavern, or slip into a stranger’s bed instead. He didn’t want her to know how unsavory his company seemed. 

“Tragic.” Came her only response as she turned a page, effectively dismissing Geralt and the conversation at hand. 

When Jaskier swept into the room later that night, Geralt was kneeling on the bare floor, trying to meditate before the confrontation. 

“Oh, Geralt, sorry. Must be in the wrong room.” Jaskier whispered, moving to shut the door again. 

Geralt’s eyes flew open, “Wait,” he started, slightly nervous. “Yen is sleeping with Ciri tonight. I didn’t know until after you started performing, or I would’ve told you.” 

Jaskier stood in the doorway, studying Geralt with his wide, blue eyes for a moment. “I can go play for the last few patrons.” He finally said, but he made no move to leave. 

“Please stay.” Geralt said, trying to keep his voice even. He didn’t know what came over him, but he didn’t want Jaskier to slip away again. “Just-” His voice broke as he looked up at the broken man before him. He looked exhausted. 

“Just try to get some rest, Jask.” 

Jaskier sighed and shut the door behind him, moving to the bed that was pressed into one corner of the room. “I suppose I do need rest. I’m not as young as I once was.” He laughed dryly. 

“I forgot. And I’m sorry for it.” Geralt mumbled, glaring holes through the floorboards. He was waiting for Jaskier’s dismissal of his apology. He never accepted them, just allowed Geralt to speak before waving him off and ending the conversation. 

“It’s okay, I suppose it was unfair to expect you to remember the ailments of humankind.” Jaskier said, stripping out of his clothes and climbing into the bed. 

Geralt just hummed. It wasn’t too much to expect, but he didn’t want to argue anymore. 

He couldn’t avoid the pitying stare Yennefer shot at him when she swept into their room the next morning to see Geralt in his meditative state on the floor while Jaskier tossed and turned in the bed. 


	3. At least the scars remind me you were real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters down! Only one to go after this! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

They reached the head of the final trail before Kaer  Morhen on an icy morning. Ciri stayed perched upon Jaskier’s horse as the rest of them walked along the icy mountainside, gently guiding their respective horses. Every so often, Geralt would catch the sound of Jaskier humming to himself. It was the most comforting sound he’d heard in years. 

Jaskier hadn’t sang since the inn Yen found them in. He hardly glanced at Geralt either. Whatever tiny bridge they’d built over the braids had collapsed as soon as Yennefer arrived and Geralt was beginning to think there was no way to rebuild. 

“Julian?” Ciri quipped, poking her head up from the mound of blankets Jaskier had wrapped her in. She’d taken to calling him his courtly name, she’d said it made her feel fancier. 

“Yes, little love?” The bard responded, continuing to walk behind Geralt. His terms of endearment weren’t lost on Geralt, and he remembered when the kind terms would slip into Jaskier’s sentences before Geralt ruined it all. Dear heart, dearest Witcher. No more. 

“Will you teach me to play your lute when we arrive at the keep? I’ve always wanted to play.” 

Geralt’s heard thudded in his chest. Hard. He could only imagine the emotional acrobatics his heart would do if he ever saw Jaskier teaching the princess the play his lute. It would be too much, too familial. It had the potential to destroy him if he saw what he could never truly have. Yen was right, Jaskier was far too human, too fragile. 

“I thought you’d never ask!” Jaskier smiled, reaching up to pat her leg. “We’ll get started as soon as we arrive. You have much to learn little love.” 

Yennefer snorted from behind them, as if she had heard Geralt’s entire thought process. He hoped to every god that she hadn’t. It was humiliating. “Well, as tender as that was, it’s almost time for a portal. Gather your things, Ciri.”

Ciri cried out in delight, making sure each of her various knickknacks had made it into the purse Jaskier had bought her in one of the towns they passed through. 

“A portal?” Jaskier asked incredulously, shooting a panicked glance at Geralt. 

“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it.” Geralt said sheepishly, hoping Jaskier would drop it. He knew the bard lacked trust for Yennefer, but he’d tried to hide their disdain for one another from Ciri. It was one brief portal, and then they would be there. Then he could try to talk to the bard again. Maybe.

“You truly think I’d let the witch portal me anywhere?” Jaskier griped, tightening his hold on the reigns as if he was making to run. 

Yennefer just laughed coldly and proceeded to open a portal in front of them. “Either you come through willingly or I’ll force you in. Let's go.” She quipped, brushing past Jaskier and walking through. 

“Come on, it’s our turn.” Ciri whined from her perch on Jaskier’s horse. Her words seemed to break him from his thoughts, because he stepped through cautiously and glanced back at Geralt only once, eyes full of anger. 

Once Geralt and Roach made it through, Jaskier whirled around to face him. “Next time, some warning would be nice. Of course, you do love to absolutely blindside me, so it may be too much to ask.” He groused as he angrily smoothed his brightly colored outfit. 

“I’m  sor -” 

Jaskier’s raised hand froze his apology in his throat. “None of that, Geralt. Just get us inside. I’m freezing and I haven’t the energy to forgive you.” 

“Alright then, we’ll stop at the stables and then we’ll go inside. I’m sure  Vesemir has food prepared.” He said, hoping Yennefer hadn’t noticed their entire exchange. It would just go to prove her point that he made the bard miserable. 

After an hour or so, they were settled in considerably.  Vesemir had reacted kindly, if not a bit strangely to Jaskier’s arrival, inviting him to explore the library after they were settled and shooting Geralt a knowing look. Jaskier chose to ignore it, he had no interest in the sentiment Geralt had surely shared about him in the past. The older Witcher was quiet, like Geralt, but he had an almost fatherly air about his that quelled Jaskier’s nerves. 

Ciri picked the room next to Yennefer’s chambers for the winter, leaving the room next to Geralt’s empty for Jaskier. The bard was certain that she’d planned it that way. The girl was intensely mischievous, and she was a sucker for a bit of a romance. Unfortunately, Jaskier was certain she wouldn’t find anything of the sort between her Witcher and her tutor. 

Once he felt more settled into the place, Jaskier made his way to the library. He was hopeful that there would be books that he wouldn’t have access to anywhere else on the continent. Upon entering the spacious room, he was proven correct. 

Before he had much time to observe his reading materials for the season, he was pressed roughly against the wall to the left of him.

“Who are you?” a voice rasped in his ear.

“Oh gods!” He cried out, gasping for breath. Only hours in and he might meet his death. Splendid. “I’m but a humble bard! A viscount once, but no longer!”

A familiar cry broke the panicked, confused silence that had befallen Jaskier and his unnamed attacker. “Eskel! Put him down this instant!” Ciri yelled, gripping his assailant’s arm.

“He’s my tutor! My Julian. But you may call him Jaskier, that’s his common name.” The princess rambled, tugging on the man- Eskel's arm, much to Jaskier’s relief. His blood was thundering in his ears, but his terror was slowly being replaced by intrigue. 

“The bard?” He asked, stepping back and looking Jaskier up and down with a small smile. He had a scar that marred his face, and dark hair, but Jaskier could tell that he must be one of Geralt’s brothers from the Wolf school. 

“That would be me. And you are...?” He asked, thrusting a hand towards the Witcher. He'd determined years ago that if he ever made the acquaintance of another Witcher, he’d befriend them instantly. Just to prove to Geralt that he was a likeable companion. 

“Eskel. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, bard. Seems like you’re always mixed up in a bit of trouble.” The Witcher smiled, shaking Jaskier’s quivering hand. 

“Funnily enough, I’ve heard nothing about you.” Jaskier teased, “If you’ve ever wanted your own ballad, I’m the man for you.” 

“Oh, he does! He does!” Ciri cheered with delight, taking their hands and leading them to a sitting area. “Lambert might want one too! I’ll go gather him.” 

She scampered back through the door, leaving the two men alone in the dimly lit library. 

“So, you finally convinced Geralt to bring you along?” Eskel asked, resting his head on the backrest of his plush chair. 

Jaskier debated on what to say. He could lie, and say it was all his idea, or he could tell the truth. He could expose Geralt’s faults to his brother. What fun, he thought. 

“Actually, dear Witcher, you have the young Cirilla to thank for my presence. I have not travelled in Geralt’s company for years. But what the princess wants, she shall receive.” Jaskier lamented, making himself more comfortable as well. He could use some friends, and the other  Witchers might just be his best bet for the winter. 

On the day of their arrival, Jaskier also became acquainted with the other  Witchers at the keep. Geralt loved his brothers, but he felt oddly territorial about the bard. He didn’t want Jaskier to spend his time getting closer to the others, he wanted Jaskier to enjoy his company again. Even if he sat in silence most of the time. 

Like Ciri, Eskel and Lambert took to Jaskier immediately, exchanging tales that had Jaskier’s eyes as wide as saucers during their first week together at the keep. Their story-telling abilities were not lost on Geralt, who was often caught listening to his brothers sharing tales that put his own to shame.

“Eskel, you didn’t!” Jaskier would gasp, covering his mouth with one hand while taking notes with the other. 

“Lambert! That is truly fascinating!” He’d cry when Lambert chose to share details of his own hunts. 

Geralt found himself stalking off to spar with  Vesemir or argue with Yennefer when these bouts of showmanship began. He hated watching Jaskier grow closer to the others when he wouldn’t allow any connection with Geralt. At this point, Geralt felt as though he might be the only person, aside from Yen, that Jaskier couldn’t get on with. 

Later in their  fist month at the keep, when he went to retire to his quarters, he heard a lute being plucked at as well as Ciri’s voice, rising in pitch from frustration. He couldn’t help but creep over to Jaskier’s door to listen in on the lesson. 

“You’re getting there, love! It’s only your fifth lesson, I don’t expect a professional bard yet.” Jaskier’s voice soothed. Geralt heard one of the leather chairs shift and he pictured Jaskier pulling Ciri into his side as her took the lute from her little hands. 

“Let’s try a simple sing-along, hm? That might be easier.” Jaskier said as he began strumming.

Ciri let out a heavy breath, making Geralt smile at how determined she was to learn immediately. “What shall we sing, master bard?” She asked in what she had deemed her ‘princess voice’. 

“Well, little princess, I’ve written a new song for you. Shall we give it a try?” 

Ciri gasped with delight, and Geralt heard her hands hit her mouth. He could practically see her, eyes shining, and hands placed firmly over her face, covering her grin. 

“Oh yes! Please, Jaskier! You’re the only one who writes pretty songs about me.” 

Jaskier laughed quietly before responding. “Good, I wouldn’t want to grow jealous of any competition.” 

Geralt heard the pages of Jaskier’s songbook ruffle as he turned to the desired ballad. JAskier murmured a few notes to Ciri, telling her the key and when they would begin to sing. 

“We’ll just stick to the beginning for tonight, dearest, and then we can work through the rest tomorrow.” 

“Deal.” Ciri yawned. 

Geralt listened as Jaskier’s strumming grew louder before he cleared his throat and began to sing. After the first few words, Ciri caught on and her voice rang out, clear as a bell, making Geralt smile. 

“I find that now I'm always listening   
God knows I used to talk so much   
The ocean doesn't need the sailor   
The sky was there before the doves”

The lyrics were beautiful. They fit Jasier and Ciri’s bond so well, Jaskier always wrote the most perfect lyrics. They defined him. They defined everyone he met. Ciri must have agreed because during the break between the first and second verses, she sighed happily and Geralt heard her snuggle further into Jaskier’s side. 

“I spoke in riddles and in rhymes   
But my time with you has taught me to simplify   
You're not quite what I pictured you would be   
You're better than my wildest dreams”

As Jaskier strummed his lute for the final time, Geralt quickly backed away from the door. The song was beautiful, and he wanted to tell Jaskier, but he couldn’t reveal his eavesdropping. That would mortify Jaskier. 

“That was lovely!” Ciri exclaimed.

Jaskier chuckled softly and Geralt heard hm place his lute on the ground. “Thank you, love. Now let’s get you back to your own quarters.” Jaskier’s voice was thick, as if he was near tears. The song must have meant a lot to him. Geralt couldn’t help but wonder if all his ballads meant so much to him. 

It painted a heavy layer of guilt over him as he recalled every  insult he’d hurled at Jaskier’s singing in the past. 

Geralt slipped into his own room as the pair emerged from Jaskier’s door, hand in hand as the bard guided Ciri back to her own room for the night. 

“Can I keep the song book tonight? Just in case I have a nightmare?” Ciri asked as their voices faded down the corridor. 

After depositing Ciri in her room for the night, Jaskier crawled into his own bed and stared into the hearth that hosted the smallest of flames. It reminded him of the way he felt towards a certain Witcher. No matter how he tried to extinguish it, there was a constant flame in his heart. 

He had always known that he loved Geralt of  Rivia . 

He’d known since they first traveled together, half a lifetime ago. 

He’d known when Geralt said he didn’t want a travel companion . 

He’d known after every hunt. 

He’d known in Cintra. 

He’d known each time Great left him for a violet-eyed mage.

He’d known on the top of the mountain and for the entire lonely walk down the side of it.

He reached a hand up to his cheek and wiped away the lo n e tear that had begun its descent down his face.  He'd vowed to discontinue his crying over the  Witcher but being in Kaer  Morhen with him  seemed to make that  impossible . Jaskier was grateful for the distraction that Lambert, Eskel, an d Ciri provided to him but the nights were still ever so lonely. He missed nights under the stars, staring at Geralt as he meditated or brooded. Whatever the night called for. 

After an embarrassingly long time lying alone and nursing his broken heart, he rolled over and attempted to sleep. 

The walls shook. The entirety of the keep felt as though the Earth beneath it was trembling. Geralt leapt from his bed, grabbing a sword and rushing to find the source of the disruption. In the hallway, he was met with a frantic  Jaskier.

He tried to reach out, hands fluttering uselessly around the bard’s form. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?” He asked.

Jaskier  dodged his reach, moving further into the corridor. “I’m fine. Where’s Cirilla?” 

Even in crisis he would not allow Geralt to touch him. It hurt, but Geralt pushed past it and led the way to the young princess’s room. 

“Ciri? Yennefer?” He called, noting the door to Ciri’s room that had fallen from  it’s hinges and onto the floor. 

Yennefer met them in her doorway, stopping them with a hand. “Ciri’s had a fit. It was her chaos. She was upset and she caused a bit of a mess.”

“Oh gods,” Jaskier sighed, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose. “What’s done it now, Yennefer?” 

Geralt felt a bit of confusion wash over him. Apparently, Ciri’s fits of magic hadn’t gone away like he’d initially hoped. Her tutors had just refrained from telling him about them. 

“Geralt!” Ciri yelled from within her room. Her voice sounded tearful and angry, a combination Geralt detested. He shouldered past Yennefer quickly, making his way into the disaster within the room. 

“I cannot stand you!” Ciri shrieked once she caught sight of him, weakly tossing a book in his direction. “I knew my Julian was sad, but I didn’t know it was because of you!”

“Cirilla, what?” Geralt started, trying to approach the wild thing that had seemed to take the place of his child surprise. Tears streaked her pink  cheeks, and her hair was flailing wildly about her face. 

“The song! The one we heard him sing when we found him! It's all true!” She wailed, launching herself at the bewildered Witcher.

He had no idea what came over the girl, but once she mentioned finding Jaskier, he was taken back to the song they’d heard him sing. Ciri had asked if it was true, and Geralt had dismissed it. He  remembered the way the lyrics had twisted like a rusted blade in his gut. He had a sneaking suspicion that he’d always known the song was his. 

Another ballad for the White Wolf who did nothing but break his bard to pieces. 

“Just look!” Ciri sobbed, pressing a leatherbound book into Geralt’s free hand while the other held her to his chest. 

She turned it to a specific page and pointed wildly. 

“Read!” 

_ This may be my final ballad for my dear heart. He has cast me aside. Permanently. This might act as my magnum opus for the W _ _ hite wolf _ _. The work I want my Witcher to remember me by.  _ _ All of _ _ my love,  _ _ all of _ _ my hurt, all for one singular man.  _

The brief paragraph caused Geral’s stomach to drop. He  continued reading the lyrics, noting lines that  stuck out like sore thumbs. Lines that were caused by his own hand. 

“Couldn't help myself and said ‘I love you’   
You didn't say it back, but that's all right”

He remembered the day on the mountain when Jaskier had made the comment about working out what pleased him. It was Geralt. He handed the  Witcher his heart, after 20 years of pain, and was immediately let down. 

“Did you ever even tell him that you’re terribly sorry? Are you terribly sorry? If you  aren’t I’ll never speak to you again! I cannot bear it!” Ciri cried into his chest, beating a little fist against him. 

“I tried.” Geralt mumbled, feeling sheepish and exposed. He’d never thought anyone would see just what he’d done. How horribly he’d gone about his friendship with Jaskier. 

“Try harder!” She yelled,  disentangling herself from his arms and walking to her doorway, calling out for Yennefer and Jaskier. 

They emerged from Yennefer’s room, looking worried and tired. 

“Yes, little love?” Jaskier soothed, taking one of her hands in his own. He always knew the right tone to take with her. He soothed her every time. He soothed them all. He was a calming force that Geralt never knew he needed but now that it was gone, he couldn’t weather his own storms .

“I am truly, terribly, horribly sorry for what happened to you.” She said quietly, staring up at the confused bard. 

“Whatever do you mean, dearest? You’ve done nothing wrong.” Jaskier quieted her, pulling her into his chest and stroking nimble fingers through her tangled hair. “The only wrong that’s been done is what’s  happened to your gorgeous hair! I’ll have to help you b raid it tomorrow.” 

Jaskier’s attempt to lighten the mood failed as Ciri began to cry softly. “I read your entire notebook.”

Jaskier froze, mid-pet, and pulled her away from him so he could look in her eyes. He looked  nervous. “What did you read?” 

“The song,” Ciri’s voice was wobbly, it wrenched Geralt’s heart. “The song about Geralt. The last one you ever wrote for him.” 

“I see.” Jaskier’s face darkened for the briefest moment and he cast his eyes towards Geralt, who hung  awkwardly behind them. Unsure of his place. 

“Well, my dearest, sweet Cirilla, there is nothing to be sorry for. That song symbolizes an important lesson that I finally learned after ignoring it for half my life.”

“What lesson?” Geralt heard himself ask. His mind was racing. His blood was  rushing and he couldn’t focus on anything except Jaskier’s flushed cheeks and tired eyes. He couldn’t function. He was so  terribly sorry. So sorry. 

“I learned that Witcher’s aren't capable of loving silly bards. And I learned that trying to change that is a pointless, painful waste of time.” Jaskier bit out, standing abruptly. 

Geralt was moving towards the bard before he even realized that his legs were the ones carrying them together. 

“That’s not tr-” He started. His voice sounded desperate and broken. If he had more sense about him, he would’ve been ashamed. But when it came to Jaskier he was senseless.

“Not tonight.” Jaskier said and he turned and walked away. The darkness of the corridor swallowed him up, and save for the smell of salt and longing, it was like he was never there. 

Ciri heaved a broken sob, shaking Geralt from his racing thoughts. He watched in silence as Yennefer gathered her into an embrace. Their eyes met, angry violet and a lost gold. 

“You have to fix this. I cannot hold them both together. She needs him, but if you can’t fix  this I’m afraid we’ll lose the bard.” She said softly, e yes blazing with emotion. 

“You don’t even like him.” Geralt responded, feeling indignant  all of the sudden. He felt as though his entire soul was written across his face and he wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. 

“I feel for him. I know what it's like to have something taken by you.” 

Geralt turned and walked away then. He could only handle so much in one night. 

When he made it back to their rooms, he stood motionless in front of Jaskier’s door, fist raised to knock. Then, he dropped his hand and walked into his own room. 

He had to fix this. He just didn’t know how. 


	4. Burned my house to embers for this moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter!! 
> 
> I'm thinking of writing a little 4 part sequel that follows them through each season of their year together. It would have more fluff and requited love, which we all love :) 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Winter was  coming to a close . Geralt could feel it in his bones. He knew there would be one, maybe two more storms before it would be time to leave the keep ; and for the first time in all his years, he found himself dreading his return to the path. 

Like the past few years, there would be no smiling bard at a nearby inn waiting for him. And this year, there would be no Ciri at his side. They’d decided that she’d be far safer if she remained at the keep and trained with  Vesemir and Yennefer throughout the year. It was the first time in more than 20 years that he’d set out and spend the next t hree  seasons truly alone. 

There was no way Jaskier would even consider coming with him. After the notebook debacle, he’d practically glued himself to Eskel and Lambert or Ciri . Never leaving their side s  long enough for Geralt to approach him. If that  wasn’t bad enough, Ciri held tight to her word, refusing to speak to Geralt until he apologized to the bard. Her little silent treatment was just the icing on the cake, adding to Geralt’s misery to the point of collapse.  He didn’t know what to say to the bard, if there was anything to be said at all. 

He walked the halls of Kaer Morhen in silence most days. Alone. Just like he’d thought he always wanted.

He hated it. 

There was nothing that could be said to mend what had happened with Jaskier, especially after Ciri’s display with the songbook months ago. He hadn't known all the ways in which he’d hurt his friend before he’d began studying his lyrics. After months of solitude, he knew each of the bard’s songs, and each of the verses that were de dicated to him. 

So Geralt did what he was best at, observed in silence and tried to express his feeling through action rather than words. He began doing various chores for the bard, brushing the horses, lighting the fires so he wouldn’t cat ch a chill, polishing his lute, but Jaskier didn’t seem to notice. 

He couldn’t continue like this, he realized one morning as he brushed Roach and Pegasus. He had to say something to the bard .  The doors to the stable swung open, inviting in the biting cold. Geralt didn’t turn. He fully trusted the inhabitants of the keep , even if his brothers grated on his last nerve at times . 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” Jaskier said haltingly, standing in the doorway of the stables and watching Geralt brush Pegasus gently. He seemed surprised, as if he couldn’t believe Geralt would actually do anything for him at all. 

Of course he was surprised, Geralt thought, it’s not like t here had  been any events to suggest that he actually cared for the bard. 

“Wanted to.” He grunted,  continuing with his work and avoiding Jaskier’s steady gaze. 

Jaskier let out a short laugh. “You wanted to help me? That’s new.” His voice was biting, like the cold just outside the stable. Before Geralt responded, Jaskier had stepped fully into the stable and shut the door, striding into the stall with him. 

“Here, I’ll finish.” He snapped, reaching for the brush. 

“Hm.” 

Geralt continued brushing the horse’s coat as though there had never been any interruption. Jaskier hadn’t been this close to him in years, and embarrassingly enough, Geralt loved it. He missed it. 

“If there was ever a thing I didn’t miss, it was your lack of words.” Jaskier said softly, reaching his hand out to grip the brush tightly.  “That being said, I need to prepare Pegasus for our journey back to civilization. We’ve much to discuss , he and I .” 

Their journey. Of course. Jaskier was leaving. He was always going to leave; this little situation was never meant to be permanent. Geralt had ensured that when he’d screamed at the bard on a mountaintop and then avoided him for years. 

The smell of honey and lemons pressed in all around him. His heart was racing. Jaskier. Jaskier. Jaskier. Leaving. Jaskier. Leaving. 

He couldn't breathe. 

After twenty-some years off pushing the bard away, he was really losing him. And it was the last thing he wanted. The straw on the ground greeted his knees roughly, poking through his pants and scratching at his skin. He felt ice cold. The wind outside roared, the blood pumping through his veins roared back. He could hear Jaskier’s voice in the background, but he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. 

He was trapped in his own skin. Alone. Alone. Alone. 

He was so, terribly sorry. He shouldn’t have treated the bard so poorly. He’d taken advantage of the best thing destiny had ever given him and he’d ruined it before they ever had a chance to explore what might’ve been. 

“Ruined.” His own shaky voice rasped from his throat. 

Jaskier’s face swam into his vision. He’d knelt in front of Geralt, gripping his shaky hands tightly and calling out to him softly. 

“Oh, dear heart, what’s ruined?” Jaskier asked, pulling one of Geralt’s hands to his chest and cradling there over his heartbeat. “Focus on my heart. There’s a rhythm there.” 

He was right. There was a steady, slow rhythm. Jaskier’s heart. It pulled Geralt out of his thoughts- centering him in the moment again. 

“What happened?” Jaskier asked softly, staring at Geralt with wide, blue eyes. 

“I spent half your life running from the reason destiny brought us together, and now she’s changed her mind.” Geralt said, gauging Jaskier’s face for any type of reaction. 

“And now what has she decided?” The bard inquired, leaning slightly closer. 

“She’s decided-” Geralt’s voice broke. “She’s decided that I’m out of chances. And I cannot fault anyone but myself for that Jaskier. I’ve cast myself out of your good graces and I’m so, terribly sorry for everything that I did to do so.” 

“Oh, my dear Witcher. My sweetest white wolf, do you understand how many days I waited, wishing to hear you say something to me?” Jaskier asked, loosening his grip on Geralt’s hand. 

The small of sadness and longing saturated the small stable, pressing into Geralt’s space, reminding him of all the wrongs he’d done. 

“I waited for you to realize that you wanted me around for far too long, love.” The bard said, dropping Geralt’s hand in order to caress his cheek. The Witcher leaned into the touch, drawing in a shaky breath. 

“I’m but a mortal man. I cannot traipse across the continent for much longer. My bones will grow weak, and my heart will grow fragile.” 

“One more year. Please.” Geralt rasped, staring at the bard’s tear-filled eyes. “You’re my best friend. My only friend. The only companion I want.” 

The warmth of Jaskier’s hand disappeared.

“Please.” Geralt whispered, closing his eyes as Jaskier began to stand, leaving the Witcher on the stable floor. Alone. 

“I need to think.” Jaskier’s voice was thick with tears as he wiped his hands on his decorative trousers and stepped backwards, away from Geralt. 

The Witcher hung his head, glaring at the straw on the floor of the stable. Willing it to give him the answers he needed. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again. 

“I know.” Jaskier whispered back, turning around and striding out of the stable quickly.

Jaskier sank onto his bed slowly, biting back sobs. He’d never seen Geralt like that before, especially not for him. He’d always made it clear that he didn’t feel for anyone, certainly not a bard who followed him back and forth across the continent. 

He was always stoic and cold when it came to Jaskier, despite the bard’s endless effort in trying to foster a friendship. Eventually, he’d just resigned himself to the reality that after this winter, he’d never see the Witcher again. He’d already promised Eskel  coin if he would escort him to the path to the university. He wouldn’t be in Geralt ’s way again. 

If he could grant the Witcher one single blessing, it would be that. 

A light tap on his door  broke him out of his thoughts. He breathed in deep, trying to compose himself. 

“Yes?” 

There was no answer, but the door swung open to reveal on e Yennefer of  Vengerberg . In one hand she held a bottle of the wine  Vesemir kept hidden in the basement of the keep and in the other she h eld her long, black skirts. 

“Your misery is seeping through the walls of this place, bard. I can’t focus on Cirilla’s training .” She said, perching on the edge of the bed and removing the cork from the wine. She did it so effortlessly, Jaskier could see why Geralt was so attracted to her. 

“Sorry, witch.” He tried to bite back, but his voice  just sounded deflated. 

Yennefer’s eyes flashed, and she seemed to contemplate her next move for a moment or so. Then, she took a drink from the bottle and passed it over to Jaskier. “We’re going to drink our sorrows and then we can decide what your next move is.” She said firmly.

“We?” They weren’t friends. They had become acquaintances because it was in Ciri’s best interest, but Jaskier couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt whenever he saw her. At the end of the day, he would  die and she would get  G eralt all to herself.

Yennefer snorted. “I do not want him all to myself, bard. Don’t really want him at all.” 

She could read minds. Of course. Jaskier took a long pull from the bottle of wine. “Don’t do that.” He said after he swallowed.

“I promise to try not to. When you’re upset your thoughts are highly intrusive, bard. They  work their way into my mind without any effort on my part.” 

They drank, and eventually they laughed. After getting over his earlier suspicions, J a skier realized that the mage wasn’t nearly as awful as he’d thought. She harbored a lot of pain, a lot of betrayal, like Jaskier. She was also quite possibly the  only other person on the continent who knew what it was like to be shattered by Geralt of  Rivia .

The evening found them curled together in Jaskier’s bed, telling stories of Ciri’s best moments and laughing over her antics. 

“So, can I count on seeing you next winter?” Yennefer asked, stroking a nimble hand through Jaskier’s hair. “I hate to say it, but I’ll miss you.” 

“Truly?” Jaskier asked, adjusting so he could look at her face. 

“Truly.” She replied seriously, without her usual snark. “I just wish Geralt would tell you he’s sorry and beg you to stay.” 

Suddenly, the stable came to Jaskier’s mind. He recalled Geralt’s plea that he’d dismissed as false. “Actually, I may have forgotten to mention the events that led me to  my little fit earlier.” He said nervously. 

“Go on.” Yennefer replied, sitting up a little more. 

“When I went to the stables earlier, he was there. He um, well, he fell to his knees and begged me to give him one more year before I leave him.” Jaskier spoke quickly, immediately looking to Yennefer to gauge  her reaction.

Violet eyes went wide.

Her jaw hung slack for a moment before she snapped it shut. 

“And what, pray tell, was your answer to his request?” She asked. Jaskier could see a flash of hope in her eyes.

“I ran away.” With that, her eyes  darkened, and she swatted a  slim  hand  at Jaskier’s chest. 

“No!” 

Jaskier just nodded, bringing his hands to cover his face. “I was scared! I’ve spent half my life waiting for an admission like that! It just feels too good to be true. Plus, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I am a human , and I don’t have unlimited years. My poor bones will begin to creak soon.” 

At that, Yennefer let out a short laugh. She looked almost bashful, but Jaskier was certain that that wasn’t an emotion in her wheelhouse. 

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“About my bones?” Jaskier asked, confusion growing. She really did look bashful. 

“When our dearest Witcher brought you to me, I couldn’t save you. You were so far gone; Djinns are not made to be reconned with. As we both know...” She trailed off. 

Jaskier’s stomach dropped. 

“Am I dead then?” 

Yennefer's laugh rang out clear as bells and she pulled him into an embrace. “ Don’t be dramatic.  I couldn’t use your own life force to save you, so I used someone else’s.” 

Jaskier pulled out of her arms quickly. No. He knew where this was going, and he absolutely did not want it to go there. “Yennefer, I swear to every god in existence if you’ve done what I think you’ve done-”

“I had no choice!” She cut in. “On the bright side, you have plenty of time to be angry with him now. You also have his entire life to learn to love him again.” She said , raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

She wasn’t entirely wrong, Jaskier thought. He stared across the room and into his hearth for a moment. He knew it was selfish, but he found himself wanting to keep this new information from the Witcher, allowing him to grovel for a lit tle longer. 

“I’ve had an amazing idea, my dearest mage.” He smiled, looking back to the mage who had paled considerably in the stretch of silence that he’d started. 

“I’ll grant him a year. Then, I will decide if I will stay and confess my immortality, or if I will go and live out my infinite days as  a solo-act.” 

Yennefer smiled at him. “I think that sounds perfect,  little bard .” 

The endearment in her usually cold voice was not lost on the bard and he  tugg ed her into another embrace.  What a strange day, he thought, as he allowed the scent of gooseberries to offer comfort rather than pangs of jealousy .  She pulled back after a moment, looking at him seriously.

“You should go tell Cirilla. The poor thing has taken a vow of silence and a vow of mourning. If she’s anything, it’s dramatic.”

“Oh, my sweet girl. You’d think she was raised by me with the way she acts.” Jaskier laughed, getting up from the pile of blankets they’d pulled over them on the bed. “I’ll handle her and then I suppose I should find a certain white-haired  ass.” 

Yennefer’s laughter followed him down the hall as he made his way to the princess. He felt truly guilty for the way she’d been caught between him and Geralt. She was just a  child; she shouldn’t have to worry about the relations between stubborn adults. 

When he made it to Ciri’s room, he saw her sitting on the floor, her own little lute next to her. It had been a gift from Yennefer after one of her missions. She told Jaskier that music would help Ciri  find an outlet, which would hopefully prevent more of her chaotic o utbursts. 

He tapped on the doorframe, waiting for her to notice him. When she did, her eyes lit up and she ran over to him. 

“Jas! Oh, I have something to show you! You must come in!” She cried, pulling him by his sleeve. 

He laughed. She was like the sun, and he would gladly be any planet in her solar system. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could really leave her forever. 

“What is it, sweet princess?” He laughed, sitting on the floor next to her and pulling a blanket off of her bed and around his shoulders. 

“Well,” She started, pulling her lute onto her lap, “You didn’t finish your song about me, so I finished it! But it’s from me to you.  So when we’re on the path again we can  perform it together! ” 

Jaskier  couldn’t help the hot tears that welled in his eyes. This little princess would be the death of him. 

“Now  I think that is a splendid idea, Cirilla.  Let’s hear what you have so far.” He said, hoping she  didn’t notice the thickness in his voice. 

“Okay, your part is the first two verses, then I will sing my part, and then we can finish it together! It’s a duet.” She said it so  professionally , like a little bard. Jaskier loved her. Truly. 

She began to strum her lute, almost exactly in key with the ballad he’d already written. She’d taken to the instrument quickly, just as a young Julian had. 

“Your part goes here...” She said, tilting her head to listen to the notes. She strummed her lute for a minute or so, looking at her fingers every so often. "And my parts  begins now.” 

Her little voice was clear, like a bell, as she began singing; 

“'Cause I've been waiting all my life   
For some reason that I never could describe   
You're not quite what I pictured you would be   
You're better than my wildest dreams”

As she sang, she kicked a journal over to him. In the break between  lines she spoke quickly. “Okay, I’ll sing two lines, then you sing two, then we’ll finish together!” 

“I'm not sure what I could give you   
Whatever's mine is yours to take” 

As her voice died out, Jaskier picked up seamlessly. 

“I have never been a teacher   
But let's both learn from my mistakes”

They were both grinning as he finished his part. Then with a nod, Ciri indicated that it was time to finish. Together, they softly sang the final  verse.

“'Cause it has taken me so long   
To surrender what I hoped no one could see   
You're not quite what I pictured you would be   
You're better than my wildest dreams” 

After Ciri played the final note, she pushed her lute to the side and flung herself into Jaskier’s lap. For a moment or two, they just  sat in silence, holding each other. 

“That was perfect, Cirilla.” Jaskier whispered into her hair, rocking them back and forth on the floor. He couldn’t ever leave her. He was certain of it now. 

“It’s our song!” She exclaimed happily, placing her hands on his cheeks. “Promise you’ll stay with us until I’m old enough to perform it with you.” 

“Dear heart, I’ll stay with you for your entire life. No matter what happens between Geralt and I, you’ll always be my little princess. ” Jaskier promised, winking at her and hugging her to his chest again. 

She frowned  slightly but seemed satisfied with h i s response. “I suppose I should end my royal vow of silence?” She asked quietly. 

“Geralt seems awfully chastened.” Jaskier said lightly, choosing not to mention the panic in the stable to the girl. It would only upset her if she knew that he hadn’t immediately said yes to the offer.  “I think he would love to hear from you again.” 

“I would love to speak to him again.” She said, standing up and extending her small hand down to the bard. “It must be nearing dinner  time; we should go find  everyone .” 

Dinner was uneventful overall. Ciri spoke to Geralt, and he grumbled back, as if nothing had changed, but Jaskier  saw  some of the ever-present tension bleed from his posture.  Jaskier watched them with a small smile, he wasn’t sure if he could bear to leave either of them. 

“Bard!” Eskel shouted across the room to him after they’d eaten. “I’m planning to leave in a few days, will you be ready by then?” 

Shit. 

Jaskier froze, looking between  all of the room’s inhabitants.  Vesemir and Lambert pretended not to see the fight that was brewing, instead launching into a discussion about potions.  Yennefer’s eyes were stormy, landing on Jaskier with conviction, begging him to say something. Eskel seemed unphased, flicking a smirk in Geralt’s direction. Jaskier’s eyes followed, watching Geralt clench and unclench his fists, shoulders h unched, before he pushed back from the table and stormed out. 

“You ass.” Yennefer seethed, looking at Eskel.

“Oops” He laughed, raising his arms in defense as Ciri stormed over to him and began a verbal attack about sensitivity and manners . 

Jaskier stood, unsure of where to go. “I’ll handle Cirilla, you go handle  your Witcher .” Yennefer said, most likely reading his thoughts as she stood and called  out to Ciri. 

Geralt stormed out of the keep altogether.  Of course, Jaskier had decided to leave with someone else. He’d had a feeling that he was too late, but he had hoped that Jaskier would accept his offer. He needed him to, he realized as he sat on a stone bench and allowed the wind to whip around him.

“There you are! It’s freezing out here, dear heart.” He heard from behind him. He knew who it was, but he couldn’t bear to turn around. 

“If you’re here to tell me that you’re leaving with my brother, don’t bother.” Geralt said, trying to ignore the endearment that had slipped into Jaskier’s sentence. 

Jaskier just sighed, coming to sit next to him on the bench. He sat close, huddling into Geralt’s side and rubbing his hands together. “You couldn’t have picked somewhere warmer to come sulk?” He asked, staring ahead as the storm clouds th at were gathering. 

“Sorry.” Geralt didn’t know what else to say.

“I know, and I think I’m ready to forgive you.” Jaskier said, still staring ahead. “I did some thinking and I think we should travel together for another year.”

Geralt couldn’t speak. His mind was completely blank. It felt like he was dreaming. If the wind wasn’t so cold, he might believe that he’d slipped into a dream. 

“But gods, Geralt, it can’t be like it was before. I’m your friend, and you will treat me as such.” Jaskier continued, looking over at Geralt once. His eyes were so blue, and they lacked the sadness that seemed li ke it was  stuck there. He was almost his old self again. 

“I swear it.” Geralt mumbled, reaching to stroke a hand on Jaskier’s cheek. 

Jaskier’s trembling fingers came up to hold Geralt’s hand against his cheek. The bard’s eyes slipped shut and he breathed in deeply. Once. Twice. Then, he opened his eyes and stared right at Geralt.

His heart thundered. Witcher’s weren’t supposed to feel like this. He knew that, but he still couldn’t help the pure excitement that flowed through his veins as Jaskier leaned in ever closer. Their lips were a  breaths width apart. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked.

“Please.” Geralt whispered, leaning forward to close the distance between them. It was like a fire was lit in his bloodstream when their lips met. Jas k ier sucked in a breath and brought both  of his hands up to cup Geralt’s cheeks. He  was so gentle, like he thought Geralt would break.  Honestly, Geralt was afraid that he might. He felt like he was made of glass and if Jaskier dropped him he’d shatter irreparably. 

Jaskier didn’t drop him. 

Eventually they separated, resting their foreheads together and  huddling against the wind. 

“We should discuss that.” Jaskier breathed, stroking Geralt’s cheek with his callused fingers. Geralt leaned into the touch, closing his eyes again. 

“We should.” He said, keeping his eyes closed. 

Jaskier pulled back, standing up quickly and leaving Geralt on the bench. His eyes snapped open. The bard hadn’t left though, he was extending a hand to Geralt and looking at him expectantly.

“It’s far too cold to discuss this now, dear heart, let’s go inside. We have all year to talk.” 

Geralt grasped Jaskier’s hand tightly and stood. Maybe he hadn’t chased his destiny away just yet. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know your thoughts... feel free to leave a comment :)


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